The Show Must Go On
by Ashkiis
Summary: "I have another proposition for you, Phillip." The Greatest Showman (2017). P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle


**Tags:**

OOC, Noncon aspects, Nonconsensual touching, Frottage, Triggers

 **Notes:**

Yes, I know Barnum wouldn't do this. I get it, he's out of character. I'm sorry. Forgive meeeeeeee (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

I ship these two as their cutsey selves as well, but I just have to bring my own sense of degeneracy to every fandom I'm in, don't I?

 **The Show Must Go On**

"Thank you! Thank you! Come again!" Phillip called, taking one last bow. He shared a brief kiss with Anne, both separating with a breathless laugh. She cartwheeled away with a happy grin, joining her brother in waving to a group of small children. Phillip swept about the stage, waving as he exited. The cheers and screams followed him as he ducked behind the curtain.

Phillip closed his eyes, a content smile spreading across his face. This was living. How had he ever thought writing plays would compare to leading his own production? Having a family?

"Great show," a deep voice congratulated, accompanied with several claps.

He opened his eyes in surprise, gazing at P.T. Barnum in wonder. It had been a while since he'd visited. Phillip beamed, rushing forward to clasp his friend's hand in an enthusiastic shake. "Thank you, sir," he answered. "Not as good as you, of course. But I like to think I do alright."

Barnum chuckled and pulled him in for a proper hug. "You're fabulous, Phillip."

They separated, both grinning like loons. Phillip clapped his hand on the other man's back and put his arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the departing crowd. "Here, come with me to my tent. You must tell me about the girls. How is normal life suiting you?"

…

It was like old times. Every time they drank it brought Phillip back to the bar, to his life changing decision. How could he ever thank Barnum enough? He told the man often. But did his mentor really know how much he appreciated all he had done for him?

Phillip took a swig of whiskey, cringing at the burn. "And Charity? How is she?"

Barnum shrugged, his eyes glassy. Phillip knew that P.T. was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, could recognize the signs after having gotten drunk together so many times. The older man fiddled with his empty glass, but shook his head when Phillip moved to fill it.

"She's well. Glad I gave up show business."

He nodded. "Well, you're home. Women like that."

A sly look entered Barnum's eye at that. "How fares Anne?" he asked.

He laughed and spread his arms. "Because of you I'm always home. She likes that."

A nod greeted his words, and then Barnum was standing, setting his glass on the end table near the cot. Phillip watched, interested. He could tell that Barnum was antsy, hadn't brought up what he had actually come here to say. He would, in time. Phillip felt no need to rush him. But it was unsettling to see P.T. so…nervous.

"Profits are up this year," he commented. Barnum would know that, based on his cut, but Phillip felt like it needed saying.

When his friend didn't say anything, he continued. "I added a new act a few months ago. **The 'Alligator Skin Boy' and the 'Monkey Girl'. Audience has started to call them '** The World's Strangest Married Couple'." He chuckled. "They chose their names. I thought them to be quite clever."

"I heard," Barnum answered, but it was clear he wasn't quite focused on the conversation.

Phillip took another long drink, feeling at a loss. He opted for silence, deciding to wait for P.T. to say whatever was on his mind.

A minute passed that way, the only sound being Barnum's footsteps as he paced. And then his former boss suddenly turned to face him. His eyes looked clearer than they had a moment ago. His lips were set in a determined line, and his shoulders hunched, as if he were squaring up, readying for a fight.

"I have another proposition for you, Phillip."

There was no hesitation in his voice; it was as strong and sure as it usually was. Phillip was intrigued. The last deal with P.T. had changed his life infinitely for the better. "What would that be?" he asked. He threw back the rest of the liquid in his glass with a flourish, his senses tingling with excitement. Surely this new venture Barnum had cooked up would be fascinating if he had made a special trip out to see him.

Barnum smirked, crossing his arms. Phillip was suddenly struck by how small he felt sitting while the other stood. He made to get up out of his chair, but a hand on his chest pushing him back stopped him. He didn't even think to take offense, though it struck him as odd. But then again, Barnum was an odd fellow. "It's not quite conventional," his friend chuckled.

"And this is?" Phillip barked with a laugh, spreading his hands out to indicate the tent, and the larger one outside. An elephant trumpeted in the distance, and he thought he heard a lion roar. Made quite the point.

The older man's smirk deepened, and it caused a sense of dread to begin to take root in his belly. Barnum leaned forward, settling both hands on the armrests of the chair Phillip was seated in. The proximity shouldn't have been threatening, but it somehow was. He leaned back as far as he was able, trying to create some distance between them. But P.T. followed, drawing closer. His breath stank of liquor when he breathed, "I want you, Phillip."

He didn't understand. Hadn't he given up his old life, already? Hadn't he joined the circus, revoked his inheritance because of it? What more could he give? "You already have me."

Barnum snorted in amusement, clearly enjoying his confusion. "I want you completely," he clarified. At Phillip's continued lack of comprehension, his friend leaned in further. They were just a few breaths apart now, and Phillip felt his heart beating rapidly in fear. What was P.T. doing? "This isn't about the show or our professional relationship. I want…" Here the older man paused, considering.

And then Barnum was leaning in, warm lips brushing against his.

With an undignified yelp, Phillip shot back, chair tumbling as he fell over backwards. He stood up quickly, brushing himself off with shocked huffs. "This isn't funny," he griped, glaring at his friend.

But Barnum wasn't laughing. The smirk was gone, replaced with the stubborn expression that Phillip knew so well. Utter shock coursed through his mind. "You can't be serious," he murmured, mouth hanging open in astonishment after he spoke.

"I'm quite serious," P.T. said, eyes narrowing slightly.

Of all the things Phillip had expected the older man to come up with, this wouldn't have crossed his mind if he'd been given several lifetimes to think about it. He didn't know how to react. It was natural to fall back on his snobbish upbringing as a defense mechanism.

"You already got me to join your circus." He strove for the haughty aristocratic tone that had been instilled in him since childhood. "Are you trying to scratch _every_ taboo off your list, Barnum?" Phillip smirked despite the panic that constricted his chest. "Besides that, you're a married-"

P.T. interrupted him with a snort. "I'm well aware of my marital status, Phillip." The older man's lips quirked. "Every king has a consort."

"You're no king."

"Aren't I?" P.T. mused. "The greatest showman to ever live. I'm the ringmaster. I'd say I'm king of this circus. Ergo, king."

"You…You gave it to me. I'm the ringmaster." He sounded like a child. But it was the truth.

"Carlyle, we all know I'm still the master." The words sent a shiver down his spine. The older man eyed the tailored costume, brown gaze finally settling on the hat on his head. "That getup doesn't change anything."

It was hard to argue with him. P.T. had a comeback for everything, was able to twist words to suit his needs. Barnum was the master of manipulation and Phillip knew, deep down, there was nothing he could say to sway the older man. Once the showman went after something, he got it. The realization did little to ease his dread.

"I released you from that cage you were trapped in. I showed you a new world." Barnum stepped closer, leaving but a few feet between them. "I gave you Anne."

Phillip stiffened, indignation flaring in his gut, warring with the fear of crossing this man.

But P.T. was speaking again before he could properly react. "I made you come alive for the first time in your life. Do you really think I'm wrong about _this_?"

Again, he tried to make his voice sound dismissive and snooty. "You're attractive enough for a... man." He forced his eyes to rove over the other's form in a cursory passing. "But I apologize. I don't share your proclivities." His father had told him to never show fear. It attracted the vultures, made you vulnerable. But it was impossible to stay impassive in this sort of situation. By god, who did Barnum think he was? Any other person would have clocked him, turned him in to the authorities. Why was he so weak?

P.T. laughed. Actually laughed.

Scathing anger curdled in his mind and he lashed out before he could reign himself in. "Perhaps you could ask Ms. Lind to be your whore instead?"

Barnum's mirth was quickly replaced with rage. Phillip had never seen that look on the other's face before. He backed up, but P.T. was quicker, grabbing hold of the lapels of the ringmaster jacket in an iron grip before he could retreat far enough.

Another humiliating cry escaped before he could quiet himself. His hands wrapped around Barnum's fists, attempting to dislodge the older man. But Barnum was _strong_. P.T. propelled them towards the cot, using his size and superior strength to push Phillip down on the bed.

Terror made him weaker, and he felt his body begin to lock up, despite his mind screaming at him to fight back. What was wrong with him? Panicked breaths huffed out of him, his chest heaving in the wake of his fright. "B-Barnum, stop!" he screeched, trying to wriggle away. "You're drunk!"

If his friend had pulled away and apologized, had told him the alcohol had muddled his sensibilities, Phillip would have gone the rest of his life taking it at face value. He would have forgiven the older man, would have thought of this moment only in passing. But instead, the older man laughed again. It was a cruel, mocking sound. "I've wanted this for a long time," he said, leaning in so his lips brushed against the shell of Phillip's ear.

Another shiver rolled down his spine. "You don't know what you're saying," he whispered, voice stolen by the fear.

"I do." Stubble scratched along his cheek as Barnum nosed the edge of his jaw. "I want you, Phillip."

Were those tears on his cheeks? "Don't you know what they'll do to you? To us?"

A deep chuckle. " _They_ didn't stop you from fornicating with Ms. Wheeler, did _they_?"

Phillip sputtered, anger once more warring with his distress. "Not the same," he growled.

Barnum rolled his eyes and huffed.

Nothing was going to change the older man's mind. Hopelessness made him desperate, and his desperation made him angry. "You're sick. Perverted," Phillip spat, his lip curling in a sneer.

His friend loosened his hold on the jacket, but Phillip didn't dare fight. He still attempted to roll away, but he didn't put his hands on Barnum. It did no good. The older man's hands were moving, encircling one of Phillip's wrists while the other began to run along his side. Phillip bucked at the touch, a sharp gasp escaping. At the sound, P.T. smirked in victory. "Admit it. You're just as depraved as I am," he mocked.

"Get off," he snarled, and yet he still did not strike.

"Is that your formal invitation?" Barnum teased, his voice husky with desire. Hips rolled, colliding their clothed groins together. It wasn't lost on Phillip that Barnum's length was rigid against his own flaccid organ. He remained still as the older man rubbed against him, trying to ignore Barnum's pleasured moans and sighs.

Phillip wasn't sure he could take stock of the emotions that were assaulting him. There was a healthy dose of rage. Indignation. Mortification. Disbelief made him feel almost out of his own body, as if he was gazing on the scene as an impassive being, hovering above where no human emotion could harm his fragile mind. But most traitorous and confusing of all of all was the small level of pride, like a peacock preening and basking in the attention. Of everyone that Barnum could consort with, he had chosen _him_. The feeling made him indescribably angry, ashamed of himself that the thought would even cross his mind. Why would he be happy that Barnum was trying to _rape_ _him_?

The lips were back, crushing his own. Barnum's lips were surprisingly soft. Nothing sweet and small like Anne's though. No, it was clear who was kissing him. When Phillip keened in distress, a tongue was shoved past his lips. He almost bit down, but a warning squeeze from the hand on his wrist enforced his obedience. Fine. If he was too much of a coward to fight back, he would just refuse to react or reciprocate. Phillip lay still, trying to distance himself from the gyrating, groaning mass above him.

Gratefulness lent him peace when he was able to distance his mind once more. He was no longer Phillip Carlyle. He was no longer the ringmaster. He wasn't even a man, for that matter. He was just a floating speck on the wind. He pictured a dandelion, and the way its seeds traveled on the breeze. He wanted to be like that. As careless as a seed, carried by a waft of air, no more aware of himself than a plant was. He recognized the insanity of his thoughts, but couldn't quite get himself to feel alarmed by it. Instead he rationalized it. Who wouldn't want to coast on the breeze?

But P.T. was ever aware, must have known he was escaping in some way. Sharp teeth were breaking skin on the junction of shoulder and neck when Phillip came back to himself. He hadn't even realized Barnum's lips weren't on his anymore. How much time had he lost? A high-pitched cry scrambled out through his lips. Barnum grunted with satisfaction, releasing the tender skin and lapping at it with a much gentler touch. "There you are," the older man murmured, and his breath on Phillip's skin was worse than the fire's burns had been.

The blazing pain of betrayal from his very best friend lent life to his courage. "I'll yell," Phillip threatened, voice weak, but not trembling.

Barnum leaned back, studying him with renewed interest. An eternity passed between them, a thousand emotions. Phillip felt like they were dangling on a precipice, not sure if they were about to careen over or fall back together, safe. And then Barnum spoke, his voice swinging heavy like a judge's gavel, words ringing with the finality of a death sentence. "No you won't." The hand that had been navigating his side was roaming down, its intention clear. Hips bucking, Phillip attempted to dislodge the heavier man. But he did not scream. He didn't call out for help.

Just as P.T. had predicted.

Barnum moaned at Phillip's jerking movements and his hand continued its journey. Settling over Phillip's soft cock, Barnum's hand squeezed in a firm gesture in an effort to entice. Hissing at the contact, Phillip glared at his friend. Rage made his face shine brighter, the red flushing his cheeks and flowing down the column of his throat. Tears glistened on his face, making his skin sticky. Barnum didn't seem to mind. The older man was planting fluttering kisses all over, never lingering in one spot for long.

All the while his body moved against Phillip's, hand squeezing in time with his thrusts. Had Barnum done this before? He seemed far too experienced, much too skilled for this to be a first time assault. Phillip tried to focus on something else, the idea too unsettling. It was hard not to concentrate on the physical sensations. Barnum's hand was strong and sure, his body equally so. It might have felt good to let go, if he had let himself. But this was too much, too fast. Fresh tears fell when the shock of his friend's terrible perfidy hit him once more.

Though it appeared P.T. was interested in his participation in this whole ignominy, it was clear the older mainly focused on his own completion. Phillip was content to lie there, trying once more to distance himself from the literal scandal taking place on top of him. He stared up at the peak of his tent, eyes open, unfeeling the tears as they paved their way down his face. He thought of Anne, of her affectionate and tender touch. Pictured her cradling him, her love for him unmarred despite his cowardice and inability to fight.

He didn't notice when Barnum's body seized up as it found release. Didn't feel when his friend sagged down on top of him, exhausted and spent. It didn't register when the gentle kisses started up again. He was in a different world. He'd finally achieved his escape. Freedom.

But Barnum wasn't content, the double-crossing bastard. Just had to manipulate and coerce and get his way in _every_ situation. Now that he wasn't distracted with his own arousal, Barnum's hand maneuvered its way down Phillip's pants, working the button free for more room. He strove to tempt Phillip, skilled hands squeezing and pulling with the perfect pressure. Sharp nibbles slowly brought Phillip back, tugged him away from his world he had fled to. A particularly sharp bite caused him to hiss with pain. Staring at P.T. with new eyes, Phillip shoved at his friend, the animalistic parts of his brain finally taking control in an effort to protect his shattered mind.

He began to flail, growling and yelping like a savage. Not loud enough to alert anyone, of course. But it was enough to make Barnum's face go tight in frustration, enough to make his friend lash out with a quick rap about his head. The blow upset him more than it hurt. And insanely, the physical violence almost shocked him more than the sexual assault.

The hit subdued him once more, his mind going blessedly blank in astonishment. He didn't resist when Barnum began to touch him again, appeased with his regained cooperation. After a few moments, despite every fiber of his being working to deny himself, it was impossible to ignore the sensations. He was a young man, after all. To his horror and absolute chagrin, Phillip's traitorous body began to respond to his friend's ministrations. The physical pleasure was at odds with everything in his mind. Fresh tears cascaded and he began to moan, not caring how it was interpreted.

"Admit it, and I'll go."

Barnum's voice was husky with lust. Phillip's eyes slowly slid to look at his friend. The other's eyes were dark with desire, and an inferno raged inside, barely contained. Phillip had never been so afraid in his life. He couldn't even speak. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Admit that you love this." Barnum squeezed to accentuate his point. "Admit that you want it." He leaned in close, licking along the tear tracks that were slowly dripping down Phillip's face. "That you want _me_."

If he were a stronger man he would have punched Barnum in the face. No, scratch that. He wouldn't have even let this happen. A real man would have fought from the very beginning, wouldn't even be in this situation. Did that mean he _did_ want this? Horrible, heavy guilt crushed his heart and he found it hard to breathe. Was Barnum right about him?

And really, what was so bad if he just agreed? It wasn't like P.T. would know if he was telling the truth or not. And it would get him the hell away. Give him time to think about the situation. Or not. There was still a good amount of the whiskey left.

"I…" His voice cracked like it had when he'd woken up in the hospital, throat scratchy and burned from the thick smoke. Somehow, this situation was worse, felt more life threatening.

Another squeeze and a slight tug. Manipulating. Always manipulating.

He felt like he was going to be sick. No. He felt like he was going to _die_. His whole body was shaking, throat clogged, heart thumping, lungs not cooperating. His limbs felt numb, and his fingers twitched on his left hand, trying to alieve his fear that his body had lost all function.

"Say it, Phillip," Barnum demanded, and this time, when he squeezed it wasn't to cause pleasure.

Fresh tears formed. "I want it," he whispered, voice so weak he thought it would go unheard. Hatred for himself needled at his entire being.

"And?" P.T. snarled.

"I…And I…" He hiccupped around the lump in his throat. Closing his eyes didn't help. Barnum was such a substantial presence. He could feel him in his _soul_. "I want you."

He didn't have to open his eyes to know there would be a smug smirk on Barnum's face. Lips mashed against his, a quick meeting before Barnum was pulling back. "I'll leave you to it then," the elder announced, stretching before rising from the cot.

Phillip finally looked at him, an odd sense of longing filling him when he saw P.T. righting himself in preparation to go. He couldn't tell if it was a yearning for the man itself or for what had been lost.

"I'll see you soon, Phillip."

And then the showman was gone, and despite the sounds of the circus outside, Phillip's tent felt oppressively silent. Trepidation filled him at the promise of P.T's words, but he pushed it away, focusing on his main concern. He was going to puke. _Now_.

He rolled off the cot, but wasn't able to get outside before his body was heaving, bile spewing out his mouth. Tears dripped off his cheeks, mingling with the putrid liquid pooling where he lay. Desperate gasps wracked his frame, his arms shaking so badly he could barely hold himself up. Deep sobs began to curdle in his chest, frantic visceral noises that he didn't recognize as being possible coming from a human being. Falling to the side, barely missing his vomit, he curled in on himself in a fetal position. A scream threatened to escape, clawing desperately with ravaging talons, despairing.

"Phillip? Phillip? What's wrong?"

Anne.

Anne was here.

He had to _stop_.

But the more he tried to quiet himself, the louder his crying became. And when her gentle hand fell on his shoulder, he exclaimed in unexplainable panic, pulling away. Anne didn't follow, didn't force him to endure her touch. Later he would remember, and would love her all the more fiercely for this.

When he realized a split second later just _who_ he was recoiling from, that it was _her_ , that he was _safe_ , he turned toward Anne, grabbing at her with urgency. She held him without judgement, without comment. Probably wondering what in the world was wrong, trying to figure out if he was sick or hurt. She didn't shy away from the sick on the ground, didn't flinch at his tear-streaked and sweaty skin. She murmured sweet nothings, small words of encouragement that held no meaning, but meant the world to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when his body finally began to calm and his tears had slowed.

She hummed, carding her nimble fingers through his drenched hair. "You have nothing to be sorry about," she said back, voice as tender as her touch.

He sat up then, pulling her along with him. Phillip hugged her, holding on to her as tightly as he could. "Wasn't feeling well and I fell asleep," he murmured, the lie tasting like acid as it flowed out. "Had a really bad nightmare."

Whether or not she believed him, she hugged him back fiercely, before pulling back and staring into his eyes. "You don't look well," she conceded, worry creasing a line between her eyebrows.

He loved her so much. Lying to her made him feel like he was going to reduce into hysterics again, but he held himself together. Barely. Trembling as he stood, he helped her up as well. "I should probably go back to sleep. We have an early performance tomorrow."

She walked him back to his cot, but lingered, watching as he lay down. "We could cancel," she offered. "Or my brother-"

"No."

Anne looked almost surprised at the finality of his tone. She didn't understand, really. He had given up everything for this life. He wasn't just about to give it up because of… Well, he refused to even think about it.

"Get some rest then." Her voice was soft, like a night breeze. Anne leaned down and gave him a chaste kiss on the top of his head, mindless of the dripping sweat there.

"Hey, it's okay," he tried, hoping his tone was light. He pushed the trauma away, ignoring the hollow ache in the depths of his being. "The show's got to go on, right?"

 **Notes:**

I don't know whether there will be a oneshot or not. I'd like to think Anne would kick Barnum's ass or something if I did continue this. Ha.

When I write, I tend to romanticize non/dubcon and have the characters both end up enjoying it to some extent, but Phillip just wouldn't let me write him that way in this. So I feel like this was a more realistic take, and it makes me nervous in a different way. I hope it went over okay. /:

Anyway. Thanks for reading! Comments/critiques/reviews are always welcome.


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